


dancing in a snow globe round and round

by serenadreams



Series: You R in Love [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, fluff nothing but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3828418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenadreams/pseuds/serenadreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver says I love you in a million different ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dancing in a snow globe round and round

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post  
> http://meri-juana.tumblr.com/post/74026929384/theres-like-a-million-different-ways-to-say-i
> 
> this is by far the fluffiest, most tooth rotting thing i have ever written. i blame taylor swift and stephen amell equally.
> 
> Song - You R in Love by TS.

_You kiss on sidewalks_

_You fight and you talk_

_One night he wakes_

_Strange look on his face_

_Pauses and says_

_You’re my best friend_

_And you knew what it was_

_He is in love_

 

Oliver says _I love you_ in a million different ways every single day. He says it without words, and with words that were designed to hold an entirely different meaning. He says _I love you_ with every breath he takes and every beat of his heart.

 

He says _I love you_ with the Epi pen he keeps in his jacket pocket. They’ve never had to use it, and she rolls her eyes at him for being overprotective, overcautious. But he never stops carrying it. And three years down the line, when she feels her heart still for a second because her throat is swelling up and _oh God she knows that feeling,_ she’s never been more grateful for his caution.

 

He says _I love you_ with his new rule of never ending a day without kissing her at least once. Ever practical, she says it’s not going to be possible; eventually one of them will have to be out of town or otherwise indisposed, and their little tradition will be put to bed. But that hasn’t happened yet.

There was one close call, when he almost didn’t make it home in time and he woke her up at 11:50, tiredness evident in his eyes, and a little out of breath from trying to get to her before midnight. He’d kissed her sweetly, and even in her half asleep state, she’d automatically responded, before cracking some joke about her being Cinderella and _will you still want to kiss me if I turn into a pumpkin, Oliver?_ (He’d assured her that he’d still want to kiss her if she turned into an _ogre_.)

Of course, most days they kiss a lot more than once. Most days they do a lot more than kiss. But sometimes life gets in the way and interrupts those precious moments, when nothing matters but each other. And in those times, it’s a nice promise to hold onto, that however bad her day is going, she’ll get to kiss Oliver before it ends.

 

He says _I love you_ with a mean right hook and a man on the floor with a bleeding nose. And when she insists that _I could’ve handled it, Oliver. He was just a drunk creep._ He smiles and says that of course he knows she didn’t need her help but “I didn’t want you to hurt your hand on his face.”

  
 

He says _I love you_ with the step he takes in front of her whenever he feels threatened. Whenever someone strange approaches her and his hackles rise, he puts himself between her and the threat. She thinks she’s probably the safest person in the city when that happens. Secure behind an impenetrable human wall. And when he wakes at night, from a bad dream or a sound he’s _sure_ he heard, his first instinct is always to cover her. Where before it might’ve been to attack, now it’s to protect.

 

He says _I love yo_ u with the extra helmet he always keeps on his bike, just for her. It’s smaller than his, and the safest one money can buy. At first it was just another precaution in the event of an emergency, but as time passes, it becomes something she actually uses on a regular basis.

She loves sitting behind him on the Ducati, arms wrapped around his waist, fingers curling into cool leather, the wind rushing through her hair.

It’s not as much fun when they’re attempting to escape persistent enemies in blacked out cars with guns hanging precariously from the windows. It’s not as much fun when bullets whiz past their bodies, and she has to press her face into the center of his back and close her eyes to keep herself calm.

But on the good days, the days when it’s just him and her and no threats to their lives or hearts, _that’s_ when it’s fun. When the air is exhilarating and the freedom makes her heart soar.

She’s never scared when she rides with him. She trusts him implicitly, and knows that he’d never let her get hurt with him right there. He never goes too fast, and never takes corners too sharply, his hand reaches back to steady her from time to time, even when she doesn’t need it, and he always double checks her helmet before letting her climb on behind him.

 

He says _I love you_ with the fact that he spends every Sunday night in front of a movie of her choosing, with her feet in his lap and a bottle of nail polish in his hand.

It’s another little tradition they’ve managed to create almost without realizing it. One they’ve both come to cherish. She slowly improves his pop culture knowledge, and he slowly becomes quite adept at painting her toes pink. And it’s nice, to have something that’s so completely domestic, so simple and _normal_ and unaffected by the other aspects of their lives.

It’s warm and it’s homely and it’s glasses of red wine and slippers with teddy bear ears and home cooked lasagna. It’s a type of home life neither of them had growing up. Him with secrets and servants and more money than anyone knew what to do with, and her with a single mother and an empty bank account and a little girl watching out of a window hoping one day her daddy might come home.

Slowly they create the life they always wished they had, together. And although they don’t say it out loud, both of them know that when they have their own children, they’ll spend every day working to give them everything they missed out on.

 

He says _I love you_ with the tattoo he gets one day; a thin band of Cyrillic letters that encircle his upper arm. Her name. Well not exactly her name. The Russian translation of the word _felicity_. Because that’s what she is for him. Her own namesake. His happiness. His felicity. ( _блаженство_ , the exact translation is bliss, blessing, _felicity_ , all of which describe what she is to him.)

And when she asks why he got it wrapped around his bicep like that, he replies that it’s because they’re never ending. _She’s_ never ending. Eternal. Just like the tattoo.

It’s the most romantic thing he’s ever said to her. And she kisses the black letters and then kisses him and then spends the rest of the night showing him just how much it means to her.

It becomes something of a _thing_ , her kissing that particular tattoo. And because of it’s innocent location, she can do it whenever she wants, in public or in the foundry or in yet another death defying situation, and no one will understand the significance except them.

And it becomes a reminder for him. When he’s bursting with anger or despair and on the brink of doing something he’ll regret, she’ll hold his arm and run her thumb along the band of ink. And he’ll remember why. Why he does what he does, why he’s a hero and not a villain, why he doesn’t run off half-cocked and destructive anymore. He’ll remember why. Because of her.

 

He says _I love you_ with the tremor of nerves in his voice, as he holds out a ring and asks her the most important question he’ll ever ask.

_“Felicity Megan Smoak, will you marry me?”_

And she’s in his arms before she can even answer, pressing kisses to his lips and his nose and his cheeks and his stubbled jaw, because for once, she’s speechless.

She finally manages to center her thoughts enough to whisper a soft _yes_ into his skin. And then a ring is slipping onto her finger and tears run down her cheeks because she suddenly feels overwhelmed by how much she wants this.

How much she wants him to be her husband. How much she wants to spend the rest of her life with him never far away. How much she wants to end every day at his side, and start every new one just the same.

She’s never wanted anything quite as much as she wants this. And it should scare her. It should bring up questions of codependency and the thought that it’s unlikely they’ll actually get that forever after. But it doesn’t. Because Oliver’s kissing her and his ring is on her finger, and his hands are on her skin, and she has everything she needs right there. And she knows he feels the same.

 

He says _I love you_ when he kisses that ring time and again and never lets her forget how happy she made him by saying yes.

 

He says _I love you_ when he yells at her for putting her life on the line. When she’s bleeding in front of him and his shaky hands are patching her up even as he berates her. Because he _told_ her not to go, he told her it was too dangerous, he begged her not to leave the car. And she did and now she’s hurt and he’s using anger as a coping mechanism to deal with just how scared he was.

So he yells at her and rants about never letting her out in the field again, and buying her a bullet proof car with a remote controlled lock and getting a tracking device put into every pair of shoes she owns, and many more ridiculous ideas that she lets slip by without comment.

He’ll calm down eventually. And then he’ll kiss her and ask her if she’s really alright, and he’ll take her home and hold her in his arms like she’s the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.

He yells because he almost lost her and the idea of that doesn’t even bear thinking about.

 

 

He says _I love you_ with the hand that always gravitates to the small of her back. Protective, supportive, possessive. A thumb brushing subtly over the fabric of her dress, the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin material, calming her whatever the situation. Wherever they are.

He can always do that. Keep her calm. Make her feel safe. Even in the midst of chaos, he’s her grounding force, comforting and familiar when the rest of the world is unsure and dangerous.

  

He says _I love you_ with the smile that he keeps just for her. It’s never directed at anybody else, it’s hers and hers alone. A part of Oliver Queen that only she gets to see. Well, there are lots of parts of Oliver Queen that only she gets to see, but the _Felicity smile_ is one of her favorites.

He says so much with that smile. He says _I love you_ and I miss you, and you’re beautiful and you’re adorable, and I wish I could kiss you right now and I wish I could do a lot more than kiss you right now, and I’m proud of you, and I’m happy for you, and I promise I’ll never leave you.

He says all that and more, and she always knows exactly what he means, when he catches her eye in a crowded room and smiles her smile. She knows what he’s saying, what he wants her to understand.

So she’ll smile back, and even though it’s not quite the same because she smiles at everyone, she hopes she has an _Oliver smile_.

 

He says _I love you_ by making sure their fridge is always stocked with her favorite foods, and her coffee order is just right, and there are no nuts in their takeout.

 

He says _I love you_ with the fact that he hasn’t eaten peanut butter since the day he met her. Even when he’s eating without her. And when Thea exclaims in surprise _“Ollie you love peanut butter, what’s the matter with you?”_ His reply is swift and sure. “I found something I love more.”

 

He says _I love you_ with a kiss to her cheek and a touch to her elbow, and a thumb brushing along the inside of her wrist.

 

He says _I love you_ when he holds her all night even though she’s sick and he’ll get sick too.

 

He says _I love you_ with the delighted huff of laughter, pure undulated joy, that bursts from his chest when she nervously whispers that she’s pregnant. He says _I love you_ when he holds her hair back every morning and rubs up and down her spine and never once complains. He says _I love you_ with foot massages and concerned eyes and a sudden abundance of flats shoes in her closet. He says _I love you_ with the look of pure confusion on his face when she breaks down crying because _“Oh God I’m so fat and ugly I’m never leaving the house again.”_ He says _I love you_ with his lips against hers and the promise that she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on and he’s never been more attracted to her, than when he gets to watch her belly grow with their child inside.

 

He says _I love you_ when he reminds her to wear her seat belt, and drink enough water and bring a sweater when it might rain.

 

He says _I love you_ when he kisses her forehead and promises he’ll always do everything he can to return home to her.

 

He says _I love you_ with the ring on his finger that he never once removes as long as he lives.

 

Oliver says _I love you_ in a million different ways every single day. And Felicity spends the rest of her life never wavering in the knowledge that Oliver Queen loves her.

Completely and in every single way imaginable.

 

_You can hear it in the silence_

_You can feel it on the way home_

_You can see it with the lights out_

_You are in love_

_True love_

 

 


End file.
